Absolutely Nothing
by slimandalittlebitfoxy
Summary: John suffers an injury and Sherlock is taking care of him. The sudden overwhelming show of affection, however, has made him a little uneasy. I mean, he is NOT gay. Right? Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Johnlock so if it gets good feedback then it might just inspire me enough to write another. :) I hope you enjoy it, and leave a review if you can!**

**Sherlock and all of its characters belong to BBC.**

* * *

Sherlock was pacing the flat again.

John was sitting in one of the arm chairs, legs crossed, a book in his lap. He couldn't even remember what he'd grabbed off the shelf, since it really wasn't the book he was paying attention to. He was just absently flipping pages as he zoned in on the man crossing back and forth before him.

He listened to him rattle off what would seemingly be lists of useless information to an average mind. But the absolute last word John would use to describe Sherlock was _average._

Lost in thought and staring off into space, John didn't realize the pacing had come to a sudden halt and the other man was looking at him intently. Finally, the lull in the dark-haired sociopath's nonsensical mumbling brought John's mind back into focus.

Sherlock smirked knowingly. "You haven't read a single word of that book since you've been sitting there, have you?"

John opened his mouth to protest, but the other man continued without hesitation. "No, no, of course you haven't. The page turning was impossibly irregular, not to mention you haven't even been _looking _at it, obviously. Can you even tell me what it is that you're reading?"

The suddenly flustered doctor had no idea what to say, and he felt his face begin to flush under the detective's unexpected scrutiny. "I...I, uh. Well—"

"Well, my dear Watson," he grabbed the book out of the seated man's lap, closing it and showing him the cover. "You just so happened to grab the _dictionary._"

John just wanted to be completely absorbed into his chair at that very moment, feeling very small.

"What's wrong with wanting to enhance my vocabulary? You're not the _only_ one allowed to be obnoxiously intelligent," he muttered sarcastically.

"So," the detective continued as if he hadn't heard him. "Taking into account the sudden involuntary reddening of your face, the—" he paused for a moment, taking John's wrist in his hand. "—accelerated heart rate, and sudden intake of breath that you probably thought I wouldn't have noticed when I touched you leads me to believe that _someone's_ gotten a bit fond of my company."

John was still frozen, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open. He lifted his face up and met the standing man's gaze. "I, erm—oh, just shut up, you irritating—"

He pulled his hand out of the other's grasp and stood. Sherlock just gave him one of those half-smiles that made him melt.

Wait. _No._ _NO._ It did not make him _melt. _What in the _hell _was wrong with him this morning? Well. To be fair it was probably only natural. Perfectly, completely normal. I mean, he _had_ been rooming with this man for a while. This really, _really_ attractive—

Nope. That was not normal. But, he was sure just needed a little bit of fresh air and a bit of time alone to remind himself of how _completely _heterosexual he was.

Snatching his jumper off the back of the chair, he walked briskly to the door.

"_Dammit_, Sherlock," he murmured, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

Mrs. Hudson heard John coming down the stairs well before he came into view. He wasn't exactly mumbling to himself as quietly as he probably hoped.

"...ridiculous...absolutely ridiculous...deductive reasoning my arse...who does he think he is, him and his cheekbones...those _cheekbones_..."

He almost collided with her as she stepped out in front of him, which only made him even more flustered. She gave him a sympathetic look. She r_eally _wished they would get on with it already. "Oh, sweetie. Did you two have a bit of a spat?"

John still looked alarmed by her sudden presence. He was probably running through the things he was just saying to himself and growing more horrified by the second at the possibility that she heard it all. Which, of course, she did.

Before thinking, he started babbling in a panic. "Oh—Mrs. Hudson! Yes—erm. That was...obviously. Uh—obviously...completely _straight_ cheekbone appreciation. Completely."

"Oh, you've got it bad," she just shook her head with a laugh.

"I've got nothing! Nothing at all, nothing being had here. Absolutely _nothing, _Mrs. Hudson, I assure you," he continued slipping around her and out the door, but not before peeking back in for emphasis. "Absolutely _nothing._"

She crossed her arms and sighed, looking at the door that he'd just closed behind him with an expression of amusement. "Oh, yes, dear. It's _obviously nothing._"

She'd stood there for a few moment, then just turned around to head into her own flat, she heard a rising commotion outside. Then, a man shouted. _John's _shout. She rushed over to the door and flung it open, looking around frantically. He was lying on the ground unconscious not too far along the pavement.

Sherlock had already rushed downstairs and reached the door as she turned around to shout for his help. He had a look of worry, horror, and steely anger on his face all at once, which startled her even further. Mrs. Hudson rushed to phone the police as he crouched down beside his fallen friend.

* * *

Sherlock was already contemplating following John when he heard the sudden noise gathering outside. Then, a man cried out.

But it wasn't just any man. It was _his John._

He didn't even care how his thoughts had just claimed the man as his, he just cared about getting downstairs as quickly as possible and assessing the situation. But, for once, it wasn't the crime that he was interested in investigating.

It was the person that was just hurt by it.

Mrs. Hudson was standing in the doorway. The way her eyes were widened as she began to turn around just made his gut clench a little more. As she moved out of the way, to alert the authorities, he was sure, he stepped out of the door and onto the pavement. His eyes locked onto John's crumpled, unconscious body. He quickly sunk to his knees and grabbed his wrist, just as he'd held it just a few moments ago. There was a pulse, of course. He figured the worst he could have was a bad concussion. But he just needed to reassure himself, maybe just needed John's touch.

Sherlock scanned the area, looking for a sign of what had happened as he heard the sirens approaching.


	2. Chapter 2

John woke up later that evening in his own bed at the flat.

He couldn't really remember what happened this morning. Everything was fuzzy. And..._God. The pressure in his skull._

Then, he made the terrible mistake of trying to sit up. The migraine was crippling. Just the small movement sent the room spinning. He laid back down again, squinting his eyes shut, breathing deeply and steadily to try to east the sudden churning in his stomach. This wasn't the first concussion he'd ever had—he'd had a mild one back when he was working as a doctor in the Army—but he'd never been sent completely reeling like that. He foggily remembered Sherlock waking him up every few hours or so as he slept through the afternoon. Responsible enough, but absolutely _beyond_ irritating.

After he'd pulled himself back together a little more, he noticed faint, deep breathing coming from beside him. That's when he realized Sherlock had dozed off in his bed. He was propped up against the headboard, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His head was leaned back against the wall, and, John realized with amusement, he was snoring softly.

John smiled as he studied the man lying next to him for a few moments. His eyes lingering on the sleeping one's face, he saw something different about him. When he was sleeping, his face was softened. The muscles were relaxed, and his mouth was slightly open.

However, the biggest difference was that there was nothing coming out of it.

Suddenly, Sherlock shifted slightly and started reaching for something. John's hand. And he allowed him to take it. He then started mumbling something. _Knew that was too good to last, _he thought, a smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. But when he finally was able to register the phrase the dozing man was softly speaking his breath hitched in his throat.

He just shook his head slightly and furrowed his brow, still studying Sherlock's unusually unguarded expression as he let the words sink it.

* * *

When Sherlock's eyes flickered open, the first thing he realized was that the place John had been occupying was vacant. He stood quickly, panicking slightly. John might be a doctor, but he was also a bit stubborn and adamantly independent at times.

He stood quickly and dashed to the open bedroom door, but he slowed to a stop at the doorway when he heard John shuffling around the kitchen. He hadn't noticed the detective's brief moment of worry, he realized as he stepped into the room. John was still tending to the tea he was making.

"Well, good morning—if you consider three AM to be and a appropriate time for a good morning greeting," John shrugged, without turning around. Heading over to the fridge, he paused before opening it. "Oh, please don't tell me you have another head in there? I swear, I can hardly ever maintain an appetite with all the appendages popping up."

Sherlock tried to look as innocent as he possibly could as he stepped in front of the fridge and smiled awkwardly. "Oh, no, I was thinking we could go out to feet—er, _eat_ instead?"

"Oh. Great. _Feet._ That is just _lovely,_" John sighed, his tea finished. He poured it, no sugar, just a bit of cream. Leaning against the counter and sipping from the cup. "What could possibly be next?"

"Well, if you must know—"

"No, _don't_ answer that," he gave Sherlock a look that almost dared him to continue, but then couldn't help letting out a laugh. "Mrs. Hudson and I take bets on what it'll be next. Don't ruin the surprise." He punctuated the last sentence with a wink.

Sherlock smiled at that, just grateful that John wasn't near as irritable as he had been the hours before. The pain of his headache was probably going to start getting to him again soon, though, so he went and grabbed the prescriptions he had picked up for him. One for nausea and one for the migranes. He leaned next to the shorter man, placing the paper bag on the counter as well. "Concussion, as I expected."

"Of course," John nodded. He'd already been able to figure that out himself. "And next you're going to be pushing me to lie back down and sleep more of my life away, yeah?"

Sherlock looked at him, nodding. He looked like he wanted to say something more. After pausing for a few moments filled with a comfortable silence, he spoke up. "I really shouldn't have pushed you earlier. I tend to do that at every opportunity I get, as you know. And...I, er...well, most don't get the _pleasure _of hearing me say this often—or at all, really, but I just wanted to say that...I...I apolo—"

"Don't hurt yourself. Apology accepted," he interrupted with a rare, cheesy smile that made the corners of his bright eyes squint. He saw Sherlock let out a sigh of relief.

"Oh—yes. Alright then," he replied, turning a bit red. Finally, John got to see the other man blush for a change.

"So, what exactly happened yesterday?" he asked, looking at Sherlock questioningly, recalling the word Mrs. Hudson had used before the incident. "You know, after our little..._spat._"

"Right. Of course. Well, you exited the flat. I heard a..._confrontation_ arise outside. I rushed to your aid," he paused to add a wink, which made John choke on his tea for a moment. "Turns out it was a petty thief and you tried to stop him from stealing her purse. Naturally, the idiot was caught a few blocks down the road. Completely incompetent."

John looked at him for a second, still slightly coughing. "Wait—the thief, or me?"

"Hmm...Tough question..." he mockingly cupped his hand around his chin in a thinker post. Then, before John realized what was happening, Sherlock had slipped his hands around the shorter man's waist and leaned forward until they were mere centimeters apart. "Really...tough...question..."

His warm breath intoxicated John, and a slight shiver ran through him. He tried not to drop the tea that he was still holding between them, as his knees suddenly went weak. He began to speak again. "You need to get back to bed, doctor. You might have been sleeping since yesterday morning but that diminutive little brain up there needs to heal."

Sherlock gently traced a finger along the back of his ear, moving slightly closer. He held this position for a few long moments. But, still all too soon, he pulled away and leaned back against the counter beside him, leaving John breathless. He paused for a moment, trying to compose himself. "And how would you know how long I've been awake for, sleepyhead?"

John thought to himself for several seconds, contemplating what to say next. How _much _he should say. He tipped the cup in his hands slightly towards Sherlock in an indicative gesture. "You talk in your sleep, you know."

Sherlock just stood silently for a moment. He was obviously thinking about what he should say as well, his eyes not meeting the pair next to him. "What?"

"You heard me. You talk in your sleep. Not surprising, you are completely mad-actually, I'm fairly sure you are completely bonkers," he shrugged innocently. He knew there couldn't be too many things that made the world's _only_ consultant detective unsure of himself. But this was obviously one of the few things that did. A well-awake, well-alert Sherlock Holmes would definitely never put himself in a situation such as this one, but he couldn't exactly control himself while he was dreaming. And that made him very insecure.

"Well, what...what did I say?" Sherlock said with an almost pained expression. It looked like it physically hurt him that he was asking John a question that he didn't already know the answer to, which was an almost comical situation. He had to bite back the laughter threatening to bubble up.

But as he opened him mouth to speak again, an overwhelming sense of nausea washed over him. It wasn't laughter threatening to bubble up after all-it was something much, much less pleasant.

Sherlock, forgetting about his current plight, noticed that John had suddenly begun to sway, and the color drained at a shocking rate from the unsteady man's face. He quickly pulled the teacup out of the now shaking hands and gripped his shoulders in his own to try and steady him as best he could. The doctor absently clutched at the taller man's lean waist for support, who was suddenly much too aware of the touch. "Bed..."

He nodded as he slowly led his friend towards his room. He helped him into the bed and pulled the duvet over him. The entire room was spinning at a sickening rate, and he barely registered that Sherlock had left and come back with a cup of water and the medication. He poured two pills out of each bottle—one for the nausea, the other for the headache—and helped John sit up high enough to take them without making a mess.

He wasn't this helpless. He pushed the duvet away and slid his legs off the side of the bed, putting his elbows on his knees and placing his face in his palms, just squinting painfully at the ground as he massaged his temples. Sherlock gently pulled one of his hands away from his face, as he was now crouching in front of the seated man. He curled a finger around John's chin and lifted his face to look into his. "You took care of me once. Now I'm going to take care of you. Just lay down, alright? You need to rest."

He grimaced as he leaned back onto the bed in defeat. "I bloody well know that, you pompous self-proclaimed genius. I'm a doctor."

His tone was snappy. Sherlock pulled the duvet back over John as he closed his eyes. He turned to leave, but he opened them again, glaring. "Where d'you think you're going?"

"I was just—" he started, but was soon interrupted.

"You were just s_taying _that's what. If you're going to _take care of me _you're going to bloody well do it right."

"Shut up, you simpleton," John heard the curly haird man mumble as he circled the bed and sat down on the other side. "Now go to _sleep_."

Although John was facing away from him, he knew that Sherlock would be able to hear what he was about to say next just fine. "For the record, I love you, too."

He heard the other man take a short, but sharp intake of breath. He waited for a few moments, and he could almost feel the gears in Sherlock's head trying to work up something to say. Finally, the silence was broken. "Oh—yes. Of course. Right. Well...I knew that, you ridiculous little man."

John just smiled as he felt his eyelids gradually getting heavier and the pain started drifting away. He mumbled something about Sherlock being an arrogant ignoramus before finally letting sleep take hold.


	3. Chapter 3

"...wake up...John..._wake up_..." Sherlock whispered, gently placing his hand on John's shoulder. "You've barely eaten anything in _two days _you imbecile. Get _up._"

Finally, his eyes flickered open. They met Sherlock's, but then he just turned his head and buried it into his pillow with a groan, mumbling something about not caring. Sherlock sighed and pulled the duvet off the still half-asleep Dr. Watson. "I don't think so, _get up._"

John sat up and glared. "Why are you so _irritating_?"

"Why are you so _adorable_ when you're upset?" Sherlock mocked, satisfied by the other man's reaction to his comment. "Now. Get dressed. But I'd recommend a shower first. God knows how long it's been since you've had one of those. We're going out."

"...Out? What d'you mean _out_?" John looked slightly puzzled.

"Oh, you'll see" Sherlock smiled, almost mischievously as he turned towards the door. He added one more thing before leaving the room. "Meet me downstairs—I'll be in Mrs. Hudson's flat."

He shut the door on John's still rather confused face. He pulled on his long coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck before leaving the flat and making his way downstairs.

Mrs. Hudson greeted him at the door with a warm smile. "Why, hello, Sherlock. Stopping by for a cuppa?"

"That would be lovely," he nodded, taking a seat at her small dining table.

"Hmm. Where has John got to? I haven't really gotten to see him since his injury, has he been doing well?" she questioned as she busied herself in the kitchen. Sherlock just thrummed his fingertips against the tabletop, too lost in thought to realize he'd been asked a question. She just repeated her first question louder.

"Oh—" he looked startled. "Yes. He's getting ready. We're going...out."

Mrs. Hudson laughed. "Finally! I'd decided the next time I saw you two making puppy dog eyes and giving each other flirty looks while the other isn't paying attention I'd have to send you out on a date myself."

"No, no, no," Sherlock shook his head in denial. "We're just...going out. That's it. Not _going out._"

"Oh, right," Mrs. Hudson nodded in mock-seriousness, recalling what John had been insisting just a couple days before. "Because there is _absolutely nothing _going on between you two."

"Exactly..." Sherlock replied softly, losing himself in his thoughts again and not registering the sarcasm. He wasn't labeling this outing. Not yet anyway. And it didn't really matter what they called it. He was just curious to see what happened. An experiment. Yeah. _That's_ what it was.

Mrs. Hudson placed the hot cup of tea in front of Sherlock. Black, two sugars. Perfect. She placed another teacup in front of the chair beside him. No sugar. For John, no doubt. How that man could stand taking his tea with no sugar would be one thing Sherlock, along with all the deductive reasoning in the entire world, could never understand.

After about twenty minutes of Mrs. Hudson chatting away at the unresponsive wall that was Sherlock had passed, a knock at the door snapped him out of it. He stood and moved to answer it.

Mrs. Hudson was slightly shocked by this gesture, and Sherlock shot her a look. "I answer doors s_ometimes._"

She shook her head. "Sweetie, you once made John hand you your mobile. Which you were _wearing. _This is a whole new _world_ of polite by your standards."

He just rolled his eyes and continued opening the door. John still looked slightly flustered and a bit lost. "Oh, uh—hello."

"Hello, indeed," Sherlock lowered his voice a bit, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyebrows raised. He'd never fail to be amused by the other man's reaction to his suggestive expressions. Priceless.

Mrs. Hudson gestured to him to come sit. "Black, no sugar, just a dash of cream, yeah?"

"Perfect," he smiled and nodded appreciatively.

Sherlock sat and listened to the two babble on about nothing with a bemused expression on his face. He really didn't enjoy meaningless conversation; neither listening to or being a part of it.

But, if it cheered John up after his days being confined to the flat, then so be it. He could suffer through. And s_uffer _he did.

When they'd finished up their tea and Mrs. Hudson and John had wrapped up their chat, Sherlock couldn't get out of the door quick enough. He tapped his foot impatiently, hand on the doorknob as John said goodbye.

"_Finally,_" he muttered as they left the old woman's flat. John heard him and just shook his head.

"You're impossible, y'know that? She's a _lovely _woman," he fussed as Sherlock waved down a taxi. "You just think you're too good to carry on a simple conversation with a normal human being."

"I don't just think it, I _know _it!" Sherlock corrected, matter-of-factually. "And I carry on simple conversations with you upon occasion."

"As I said. _Impossible_," he grumbled as a taxi slowed and they got in. "So, where are we going?"

Sherlock didn't acknowledge him until he'd given the driver the address. He was sure he wouldn't recognize it, and from the questioning look still on his face, he was right. His eyes glittered with excitement. "As I said, you'll see."

* * *

Absolutely nothing. Absolutely _nothing._

_Absolutely. Nothing._

John kept chanting this mantra over and over in his head. But the back of the taxi felt awfully small. And the way Sherlock's hand was lightly touching his told him this was the polar opposite of _absolutely nothing._

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Absolutely.

Nothing.

They spent the taxi ride in comfortable silence. The driver tried to make conversation a few times but didn't really push it. John, of course, took care of the _useless chatting_ that Sherlock always seemed much too keen to avoid.

"So who's the silent one? Boyfriend? Husband? Or just a mate?" John made a face. He knew that question would be coming.

"Just mates," he replied much to quickly. The taxi driver raised an eyebrow and looked doubtful and he pulled up beside a curb.

"Well, I dunno. I think your _mate _might have something a bit different in mind," he winked, smiling. John looked at Sherlock, confused. Infuriatingly, he just gave him another cheeky smile. Sherlock paid the fare, tipped his head in a silent "thank you", opened the door, smoothly stepping out of the vehicle. John gave the driver a strained smile, who just laughed.

"You two have fun now! _Mates...Yeah right..._" he snorted the last bit, quietly amused.

Finally taking in where they had been dropped off at, he realized why it didn't exactly come across as a small, friendly outing. He was speechless for a moment. "Well...this is—this is...nice."

It was a small restaurant, the very last in the row of shops. The rich, dark wood framing the windows was etched with intricate designs, and adorned with the same reflective golden paint that decorated the windows. They were clear, so the inside was easily visible. The tables were lit by candles, and an elaborate chandelier flooded the small room with a warm, yellowish glow. The chairs and tables were also embellished with the same complicated entanglement that was on the outside of the shop as well as the windows. There were only about five tables—and all of them were completely vacant tonight.

"Not many people are familiar with this quaint little shop," Sherlock explained, sounding quite pleased with himself. _As he has every right to be, _John thought with admiration. "I did my research to find the perfect place."

"The perfect place for what?" John asked as his eyes widened.

"Well, the perfect place for our first date of course," he nodded, finally deciding to dub the event. He was looking at him from the corner of his eye and pulling one corner of his mouth into that awfully breathtaking smile that the shorter man had become so fond of.

"Oh," John paused, trying to sort out everything that was happening. The lines on his forehead stood out as he furrowed it in concentration. "Yes. Right. Of course."

He felt Sherlock lace his fingers through his and begin pulling him towards the door. He finally snapped out of the trance.

"_Just go with it..._" He hissed at himself through clenched teeth. Sherlock just shook his head and laughed. He'd obviously sensed his date's dilemma.

Sherlock leaned back and John blushed as he felt he lips brush along his ear. The whisper sent a shiver down his spine. "_Exactly, my dear Watson._"

And that was the moment that John finally let released all the inhibitions he'd been struggling so hard to keep in place.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock found that holding a lengthy conversation with the man across from him wasn't as terribly sickening as he'd imagined it would be.

In fact, although he'd never admit it, and didn't even really realize it himself, he had found a new appreciation for the average mind.

The detective also finally realized how much John admired him. He'd never really registered that fact before. How the man had managed to live in a flat with him for this long and not have committed homicide yet puzzled him as much as his lack of taste for sugared tea. Not many people were able to deal with his constant observations, his constant prattling on about every little minuscule detail. And the first day they'd met, John wasn't even intimidated by him. In fact, he was the first person he'd met that was actually amazed rather than extremely put off by the instinctive deductions Sherlock spewed forth. Of course, his intention was to impress people, and although he was sure they all were, very few actually explicitly told him how fascinating it was.

Except for John. This strange, shockingly intriguing, average-minded little man had managed to capture him completely, in a way no other human being had ever even been able to come close to doing.

Both men were done eating. There was a lull in the conversation as they studied each other in the comfortable silence. John had absently reached for Sherlock's hand on the table about halfway through dinner, and their fingers were still interlocking. It was the first open show of affection he'd made.

Sherlock absently bit his bottom lip, breaking eye contact with John as he asked for the bill. When the waitress brought it, however, John grabbed it before Sherlock could. "I don't think so, you're _not_ going to be the only man in this relationship—or whatever it is. _Especially_ not just because you're taller. Got it?"

"Mmm, I like that tone of voice. Army experience coming through. How..._yummy_," Sherlock teased, sending him a seductive smile that sent chills through his nerve endings.

"Oh, you're_ awful_," John shook his head, trying to hide his smile. Once John had paid the bill, they reluctantly stood, thanked the staff, and exited the quaint little restaurant.

Sherlock turned his collar up against the cold wind. He heard John sigh.

"Not with the collar thing again, acting like you're all mysterious and cool or something," he scoffed. "You and your cheekbones look absolutely ridiculous."

"Shut up and follow me," Sherlock turned left and started walking. It took John a moment to register what was going on. With their difference in leg lengths it wasn't all that easy for him to catch up.

"What...what are we doing? Don't we need to catch a taxi?" His face was flushed, but for once, it was from the coolness of the temperature.

"Just trust me, it worked out earlier, yes?" Sherlock pointed out, not stopping. He had his hands in his pockets, and felt John loop one of his arms through his.

" At least _slow down. _I'm still suffering from a _brain injury_, remember?" he emphasized in a grumpy tone. "My head's starting to hurt again. The painkillers I took before we left are starting to wear off."

Sherlock sighed, but slowed his pace all the same as he pulled his hand out of his pocket and threaded his long fingers through John's again.

Sherlock was searching for the specific place he was thinking of. The park he'd been looking for was right across the street, the autumn leaves reflecting the light of the lampposts in a warm array of color, contrasting with the biting chill of the air around them. Finally, he spotted a bench.

Sherlock pulled John over and sat down, the other man following. They just sat for a few moments, appreciating the glow of the lamppost beside the bench and the pool of light that it bathed the colorful trees in. John was leaning into the taller man's chest, and Sherlock put his arm around him, slowly rubbing his hand up and down his arm.

The detective had a sudden urge to tell John everything he had been thinking while they were sitting across from each other in that restaurant However, with the whole jumble of thoughts running through his unusually overworked brain, he had trouble articulating what he wanted to say for the first time in a very, very long time. "You...you're amazing. No—er. Not just that, actually. You're...brilliant. Completely brilliant. More brilliant that I ever thought an average-minded person could be. But, now that I think about it...You really aren't an average-minded person. No, not really..."

John had lifted his head from Sherlock's chest as he started talking. This sudden tumble of words had rendered John speechless So, John reacted in the only way he thought he could in his current, wordless state.

Before Sherlock knew what was happening, John had lifted his chin up, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against the pair in front of him. Before he had a chance to break it, Sherlock turned into him and wrapped his arms around his back, pulling him as close as he possibly could. The sluggish chill that had been creeping into their bodies had suddenly turned into a hot, fevered frenzy as the kiss deepened. Sherlock pulled himself away and started trailing smaller kisses down what was exposed of John's neck and back up to his mouth, which warmed the other up even further.

When the hesitation finally completely evaporated and they allowed each other to explore their joined mouths, Sherlock felt a moan rise up in his chest as John let a satisfied sound of victory bubble up in response. He felt John's hands get tangled in his hair as it became even more intense.

Finally, the kiss slowed and they finally broke apart. But when they did, neither felt like it had lasted long enough.

John smiled sheepishly. "Well—that was nice."

For once, Sherlock was the breathless once. "To say the least. Who knew you could _take charge _like that?"

"You forget I'm an ex-Army doctor, Mr. Holmes," he chided, with a laugh.

"Mmm, indeed you are_,_" Sherlock purred as he pulled John, blushing once again, up off the bench, wrapping him in his arms and placing his chin gently on the top of his head. "Oh, _indeed_ you a_re._"

* * *

When they got back to 221B, John struggled to comprehend how he had ever managed to trick himself into believing that phrase, the sentence that he had been internally chanting just a few hours ago as they left this building. He and Sherlock were holding hands again. He liked how Sherlock's long fingers could completely envelope his own.

As the entered the building, Mrs. Hudson came rushing out of her flat. She glanced at their linked hands and smiled, an excited look of victory in her eyes. "Absolutely _nothing,_ huh? Are you two _quite_ sure about that?"

Before they could respond, she began speaking again. "Oh, you two are _ridiculous._ I knew it! First day, I _knew it._ I mean, it takes something special to get a person to _hand someone a mobile that is bloody well already attached to them. _And John. _Really_. The fact that you can even _stand _living with this one. That is _love _darlings."

She laughed and went back into her flat without allowing them to speak a word, softly closing the door behind her.

Both he and Sherlock were blushing at that point, so he took the initiative and led them upstairs to escape the slightly awkward air that was lingering in the atmosphere.

John was thoughtful as he unlocked the door in front of him and stepped into the flat he had not too long ago agreed to share with a completely mad, but absolutely brilliant stranger.

Absolutely nothing.

No, that wasn't right. Not at all.

John took off his jacket, and he felt Sherlock nuzzle into his neck, pulling him into a hug from behind.

_No,_ he corrected himself. _Absolutely everything._


End file.
